


From Here On Out

by semperama



Series: Tumblr Ficlets - Pinto [17]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Nostalgia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: “Fuck no, I don’t want to go to the hotel,” Zach says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Take us home, Captain.”





	From Here On Out

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after the Star Trek Beyond Fan Event; it's my imagining of what might have happened after.

Zach doesn’t know who ordered the town car, his people or Chris’s people or maybe Chris himself. Chris is the kind of person who will do that, call up the car company on his own. He has it on speed dial. Zach used to think it was a control freak thing, and maybe it is that a little, but it’s also that Chris hates to ask for help or to boss people around. He doesn’t lord over his handlers like some would—and he's even surrounded himself with people who don’t like to be walked on, who will put him in his place if need be. Maybe he even asked someone to get a car for them and they told him to do it themselves.

Whatever the case, Zach is grateful for it. He hugs Karl and Katee goodbye and then slides into the back seat after Chris with a weary sigh. It was a good time, but it was long, and the quiet inside the car falls over him like a comfortable blanket. He tips his head back and shuts his eyes.

“We going back to your place?” he asks Chris, who is already tucked against the window, fiddling with his phone. Zach can picture him vividly, even with his eyes closed.

“Is that okay with you? I can drop you at the hotel.”

“Fuck no, I don’t want to go to the hotel,” Zach says, scrubbing a hand across his face. “Take us home, Captain.”

Of course, it’s really the driver who is taking them home. They pull away from the curb, and the noise of the crowd fades away, replaced by the quiet hum of traffic and the rumble of the engine. Zach manages to doze off for a little while, and when he opens his eyes again, they are sliding through the familiar streets of Silver Lake, past intersections and buildings and palm trees that are so familiar they make Zach’s chest tighten with emotions he can’t name. He still knows this place like the back of his hand—better, even. He closes his eyes and tries to guess the driver’s turns, right here, left there, Chris’s driveway should be coming up any minute now.

The car slows and stops and Zach opens his eyes again. There is the house, sitting squat and dark behind the gate under the shadow of palms and mimosas. Chris opens the door on his side, and the breeze that blows into the car smells sweet and salty, like fresh flowers and the ocean. Zach takes a deep breath and sighs.

“You coming?” Chris asks, ducking back down to look at Zach, his hand on the car door. “If you’re too tired—”

“I’m coming,” Zach interrupts. He reaches for the door handle right away, not wanting Chris to second-guess him a third time. The car backs out of the driveway and heads off down the road again, leaving them in the dark as Chris struggles to punch in the code for the gate.

“Here,” Zach says, digging out his phone. Chris’s smile flashes bright white in the artificial light, and then the gate is swinging open with a mechanical groan that seems overloud on the quiet street. They both slip through before it opens all the way and continue up the walk to the house.

“Fuck, I’m beat,” Chris says when they’ve almost made it to the door. He swipes a hand across his face like he’s brushing away cobwebs. “It’s just hitting me now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go back to the hotel?” Zach asks.

Chris stops walking, his boots scraping the pavement as he turns back to Zach. The streetlights barely reach them here, the orange glow struggling to make it through the trees. Chris’s face is shadowed. He is a dark silhouette and little more, and it makes Zach feel oddly self-conscious. Usually Chris is an open book to him, his emotions telegraphed through a hundred tiny mannerisms that Zach has picked up on over the years. Now, he’s just a shadow.

“I want you to come in,” Chris says quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

I want to come in,” Zach echoes. “But I… I don’t…”

He doesn’t know what Chris expects from him, what Chris _wants_ from him, but he doesn’t know how to ask. This night could play out a hundred ways, and this feels like the tipping point, right here, this moment. In a second, either Chris will turn around and go inside, and Zach will follow him, and they’ll have a nightcap, and Zach will fall asleep on the couch, or—

Chris the Shadow steps closer, then closer still, until he’s toe to toe with Zach and the diffuse street light catches his eyes just enough to light up the blue in them. His hair is falling down over his forehead, soft and touchable. Touchable enough that Zach reaches up and brushes it back, then cups the side of Chris’s face in his hand.

“We’ll be in Cannes in a month,” Chris breathes. “The whole press tour a month after that.” He turns his head and kisses the skin on the inside of Zach’s wrist. Zach’s pulse jumps immediately. Chris must be able to feel it under his lips.

“I can’t wait,” Zach says, his voice far more breathless and far more sincere than he wanted it to be.

“So don’t wait,” Chris says, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together. “Come inside.”

He walks backward, back into the shadows, but this time he’s bringing Zach with him, so it isn’t so bad. And it will only get better from here.


End file.
